Mask of Perfection
by BloodRedShadows
Summary: Angsty, gory, random piece of writing I wrote. About Dracula's feelings of his immortality, maybe. One shot.


**Okay. I've had a rant and I;ve sent messages about not having ANY inspiration, but I... Is there any such thing as bad inspiration? I dont know, it's angsty. And gory! It's got carnage in it, so if you dont like it, dont read it. Okay? Okay. I'm gonna dedicate this to Eriksbestfriend and Remember, because you two just.. Aw. :)**

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A pale, porcelain hand reached out and gently took the crystal glass. His grip was firm, yet careful, and took the liquid crimson in a few gulps. His calm, gentle appearence soon faded as he slammed the glass onto the table to his side, shattering it into millions pf pieces. He snarled and stood up quickly, quick, ragged breaths easing out of his mouth, forcing his chest to rise and fall rapidly. His raven silk hair was skewed across his face, framing deep, menacing pools of ice.

He was angry. Angry with the world, angry with himself. Angry at everything. He screamed out, roaring towards the heavens, before transforming into his inner demon. The huge, ancient window shattered like the crystal glass as he flew through it, tearing his wings in several places. He didn't seem to notice, and the wounds healed themselves within seconds. The rain pelted onto the dark, leathery skin, but he felt numb. He didn't care. He was hollow.

He needed to feel something, he didn't want a meaningless life. It wasn't fair, he envied the life others around him had. Pathetic mortals. He landed, gracefully changing into his original self. His magestic cape was left at home, and his hair was strands in his wet face from the rain. His clothes were drenched, and he didn't care. He couldn't care, he was hollow.

He noticed a lone woman entering the alley, and he snarled. Within seconds he had her against the wall by her throat, almost crushing it. Before she could scream for help, he had already torn her apart in his anger. He sliced at her with claws, he ripped the skin off her body. He relished in the blood that covered him. He broke apart her bones, ripped off her hair. He relished in the life he had taken. If he could not have life, true life, then neither would she.

The satisfaction didn't last long. He frowned, staring at the pieces of her. She had gone now, free to the world, returned to the earth... And he was stuck. Forever bound to live a lonely eternity, hollow and unfeeling. He snarled and kicked the chunks of flesh. Why?! Why did he have to live such a life?! He needed to feel happiness! What had he done so terribly wrong to give him this...?

His eyes glowed in all beauty, and he charged out the alleyway. He stumbled upon a nightclub. A single place so full of the life he envied.  
He threw the doors open, and with the sheer force of his mind he blocked all exits. They didn't deserve to live. If they returned to the Earth.. Become free.. He didn't care. The bloodshed and fear would bring him tyo a degree of satisfaction, and that is all that mattered to him.

He roared once more, shedding huge, demonic, dark wings. His skin become that rough leather like once before, and his claws were as sharp as razorblades. He began.  
Blood flew in every direction as he tore through them like scissors though paper, cutting pieces of flesh and leaving behind a bloody trail of utter destruction. He was a God, and he would choose when they died. He wasn't worthless. He was something. He was death with wings.  
Claws cut through bone like butter, and the screams of pure fear reached his ears as a melodic masterpiece. His ears demanded more pleasure.

Licking his hands clean, he looked at the sight before him. No human was left untouched. All that remained was flesh, limbs, pieces of shattered bone. Blood covered the scene like a blanket, and the bartender was slumping over the bar. A deep gash in his throat made blood pour from him like wine would from a bottle. He laughed.

He laughed, and laughed. He would never be happy, but he laughed. He was hollow, but he laughed. He was unable to feel, but still he laughed. He would laugh away all problems in his troubled mind, and appear he was content. A mask of perfection.


End file.
